


Nothing to Fear

by kyuubi_wench



Series: My Merlin Fics [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Arthur claims merlin, But for now it's stand-alone and definitely not a more-than-friendship, Claiming, Collars, Gen, Magic Revealed, NO BUT SRSLY, arthur is possessive, by a technicality?, implied potential relationship, it's public but it's very NOT sexual, miiight be a little ooc, this has the potential to go merlin/arthur, who knew, why is that not a tag yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuubi_wench/pseuds/kyuubi_wench
Summary: Merlin's waiting on Arthur's judgement after saving his life. He wasn't quite expecting this though.(He's not really complaining .... )





	Nothing to Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I rough-draft started this like, almost three years ago with the input of my lovely Blackwidina, who was watching Merlin with me back in '15; found it a couple days ago and revamped it. This (maybe, probably) won't get extra chapters, but who knows. Ran it through a beta-read session with the amazing StarofWinter. Any lingering mistakes are all mine. 
> 
> This is *not* a continuation of my previous ficlets in the series. Also, in case anyone is wondering, the stone mentioned toward the end is a dragon's-eye opal, one of the darker ones.

“Merlin.”

 

He looks up at his name, pieces of straw between his fingers snapping as his hand clenches reflexively. He's been down here for days, now. Days of waiting, anticipation eating at his nerves, waiting and detached from the sounds of the castle as he awaits his king's decision.

 

Now his king is here. Arthur stands before him on the other side of the cell door, the crown slightly lopsided atop his head, shoulders wrapped in a cloak that is Pendragon red. Merlin doesn't stand, although he wants to, wants to approach and talk to the man he has been servant to for years now.

 

He doesn't dare move yet. There are guards armed with both swords and crossbow standing next to his king. They are looking at him now like they did that day, when he'd stopped a point-blank assassination attempt in front of Arthur and the rest of the court. When he'd used magic and outed himself and saved Arthur's life in the same second.

 

If Uther had still been alive, Merlin would have been dead days ago.

 

He knows the assassin was already executed- the day after the incident happened, in fact. Arthur had wasted no time making an example of him.

 

Merlin isn't sure if he is going to be following the same fate or not. By the old laws, he should have burned already. Beheaded if Arthur had been merciful.

 

“Sire?” His voice is scratchy, but thankfully doesn't crack.

 

Arthur doesn't answer him, but Merlin watches as Arthur looks him over from across the cell. He doesn't look angry, and Merlin can't see disgust or hate on that face. It's an intense expression, though, as if whatever decision Arthur had come to had consumed all of his mind and focus.

 

A quicksilver thought that at least Arthur hadn't ordered his death on a whim flickers through Merlin, and he smothers it back down. The weight of the choice may be heavy on Arthur- it doesn't mean that Arthur has chosen in his favor.

 

“Clean him up,” Arthur orders, turning away even as he speaks. “You have a half hour.”

 

Merlin doesn't fight as Arthur leaves, guards rushing to fill the cell and escort him out. Shivers run down his spine though, watching as Arthur leaves and never glances back. He hasn't ignored Merlin like this, not since Merlin first came to Camelot and riled up the prince.

 

Quiet, terse guards escort him to a spare room not far from the servant quarters, where a servant girl he doesn't recognize helps scrub the stench of the prison from his skin. She doesn't talk to him, no matter that he tries to initiate conversation. Her eyes flick to the door, and she shakes her head, eyes too wide to not be fear. The guards stand by, vaguely at attention while seeming to watch every move. The water around Merlin's feet almost boils as his anxiety skyrockets, magic crawling under his skin.

 

He spots Gwen briefly at the door, and she spares him a small smile as she passes a bundle of clothes to the other girl. Merlin tries to call out, ask her what she knows, but she ducks away from the door before he can get the words out. The aborted sound of his voice is loud in the room.

 

One guard places his hand on the pommel of his sword, glances coolly at him. Merlin clamps his mouth shut and takes the clothes from the servant girl.

 

She hasn't even given him her name.

 

Merlin frowns slightly at the pile of clothes: pants, trousers, boots. There's no shirt, not even a basic tunic. The trousers are nicer than his usual, much closer to the clothes he has to wear when he tends to Arthur at formal dinners. The boots are the same quality.

 

Merlin dresses, unspoken commentary dancing in his head about how Arthur wouldn't have him bathed and dressed this nicely to simply execute him.

 

Then again, he is only half-dressed.

 

The door opens as he's putting the boots on. It's a knight's cloak not a normal guard, and Merlin looks up to see Leon's face. “Leon-”

 

“We're about to be late. Come on.” The knight doesn't say anything else, stepping aside to let Merlin pass through first. There are three more knights out in the hall, the normal guards having disappeared. They bracket Merlin, an escort decked out in red and gold and steel.

 

Merlin had anticipated being led to the council chambers, or the throne room.

 

He's not quite ready for them to turn and lead him outside, out into the main courtyard in front of the castle. Fear crawls back up his throat; he has seen far too many executions in this very same place. It's full, packed worse than even that first time he'd come. Familiar faces are everywhere, people from the castle, from the lower town, the knights. Arthur.

 

Arthur, same as when he stood before the cell door, achingly familiar even as he looks so distant. Merlin suppresses the urge to go over and straighten his crown, tipped as slightly as it is on Arthur’s hair. 

 

The knights bring him to within just a few steps away from Arthur, falling into a flanking position behind and around him. Merlin can feel the display they’re making, putting him and Arthur in the center. He doesn’t stare at the places where others have died before him. There are only people here, and he will take a fraction of hope in that there is no post, no burning pile, no pillory.

 

He watches Arthur instead, places a hopeful wish against the solemn frown marring the king’s face. 

 

“You have performed magic in front of crown and defenders of the crown, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is loud, clear; more than capable of reaching the fringes of the courtyard. The crowd is more silent than he has ever seen here. “You have been found to possess and use magic, something condemned in this kingdom by Uther, my father. You have been accused of previous usage of magic, and are believed to have used it at least since coming to Camelot, if not long before. Our laws are clear.” 

 

Merlin shifts his weight as Arthur stares at him. He’s not going to deny anything- it would be useless at this point. He doesn’t regret what he’s done on Arthur’s behalf over the years he’s been here. 

 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Merlin?”

 

He straightens, words coming to his tongue unplanned and fervent. “I  _ am _ of magic, Arthur Pendragon.” It’s not words he would have said if he’d planned this, but. Needs must. His voice is only slightly quieter than Arthur’s, and just as clear. “Yes, I am a sorcerer. I am  _ Emrys _ , magic is mine and I am of it.” He glances out at the crowd and back, keeping his hands still. “I will do whatever is in my means to guard you, support these people, protect this kingdom. I have done so since coming to this city, and I will continue doing so until the day I die.”

 

Speaking the words resolves something in him, calm certainty filling his mind. This is right.

 

Ripples of whispers start at the edges of the crowd, stirring among the people. Arthur turns to glance over them, gives them the weight of his stare before turning back to Merlin. Silence grips the courtyard again. Even the crows perched above are silent, judging black eyes awaiting the response of the new King. 

 

“And if I ordered your death today?” Arthur asks, flat and impassive. Merlin dips his head, purposefully breaking eye contact. He is no longer scared. It’s not his time, the magic whispers, and he believes it.

 

“I will serve you until I die. Order it, and I will walk into the fire myself.” 

 

_ He won’t, he won’t _ Merlin feels in his bones now, in his chest.  _ Future King _

 

There’s a distressed sound at the edge of the crowd, and Merlin catched a glimpse of Gwen being drawn back into the crowd, her face buried in her hands. But his focus is for Arthur, and his certainty has come back. He looks up, waits for the answer. 

 

“Take a knee.”

 

Merlin slides easily to one knee as Arthur turns away, shifting to move to both knees. A hand flicks in his peripheral, a knight’s glove flashing in a known  _ wait, stop _ gesture. Merlin lets his weight settle, one knee on the flagstones. It’s not a comfortable position, reminiscent too much of a knight’s position, not a place for a simple servant. The magic quick-flickers along his skin, curls down his spine. It counters the rise of nerves again as he watches Arthur collect a slim case from a different knight. Elyan gives him a tiny nod past Arthur’s shoulder as their King turns back to Arthur.

 

There’s a dark promise in Arthur’s face when he turns back, though. It still looks nothing like anger or hatred, but something different that makes Merlin’s blood pound in an echo of the same furious dance his magic is doing along his skin. 

 

If Merlin dared to call it anything, he would call that heavy look possessive.

 

“Merlin, son of Hunith, the one the druids call Emrys.” The magic freezes at that, stills as if waiting for the next words, eager,  _ wanting _ . Merlin can’t even bear to think of looking away. “Will you serve Camelot in any way asked of you, to be its shield and sword, to ask blessings of the old magic upon its soil and people, to help pave the way for prosperity and peace?”

 

Like he had any other answer for that question. “I will so serve.”  The magic ripples within him, around him. He can feel it binding, wrapping him into the beginnings of a vow.

 

“Will you protect the crown of Camelot, do as the crown commands, protect and defend the crown until your last breath has fled your body?”

 

“I swear all of that. As long as you wear that crown.” A ripple of whispers start at that, but Arthur raises a hand, not even looking away from Merlin, and silence reigns again. Arthur takes a moment before opening the case with a practiced movement, fingers gripping the edges while his thumbs dip in. A knight reaches under the box to catch it without dropping as Arthur releases it to hold up the item inside. 

 

Merlin doesn’t track which knight, his attention is on the piece Arthur reveals. It’s a heavy gold choker, mixed solid lines and delicate curls formed into a master crafts-piece. Red stones are set into the gold, deep crimson, forming the Pendragon colors. But the stone on the bottom, a dangling, heavy piece that weighs down the rest, is like nothing Merlin has ever seen before. Red and black and touches of blue, deep and mysterious. Arthur holds it aloft, lets the light catch and shine across the truly magnificent choker. Only the heaviest stone absorbs the light instead of shining it back, and Merlin shivers slightly as the crowd makes small noises of appreciation, and perhaps, shock.

 

It’s not a delicate, casual piece. It’s a piece made for royalty. 

 

“Merlin, son of Hunith, who the druids call Emrys.” Once again the magic curls in his body, ready, hungry,  _ eager _ . 

 

“I claim you for Camelot.” Arthur's arms descend, until the jewel dangles before Merlin's eyes.

 

“I claim you for myself.” Hands move and the choker twists, and Merlin bows his head.

 

“I claim your magic, body, and will, for as long as you live.”

 

It is as heavy as it looks, Merlin thinks abruptly as Arthur fixes the chain about his neck. It's a solid piece, covered with stones, and the fiery darkness settles against his throat with a weight more than it ought to be. There's a resonance, deep and fierce, nearly wild. Merlin takes a deep breath and feels the magic in his skin  _ purr _ . 

 

It’s drawn to the heavy stone that lays on his collarbone, drawn dancing and thrilled and eager. And Arthur has laid this claim publicly, accepting him and his magic in front of knights and common people alike. No more hiding. 

 

No more  _ fear _ .

 

“Rise, Merlin.”

 

He feels taller when he stands, stares out over the crowd when Arthur nudges his shoulder. Arthur presents him with a gesture and a commanding voice, and then to Merlin's continuing surprise, the crowd folds. Bows, curtsies, some even kneel, but all give him the sort of acknowledgment they usually spare for the royalty.

 

Arthur's hand settles on his shoulder, and Merlin hasn’t seen it, but he can feel the echo of another dark- fire stone. It burns cold against his bare skin, and he wonders if Arthur knows that they are magically reactive. Maybe that was the point. There would be no denying Arthur's claim as long as he wears the king's jewels.

 

“Mine,” Arthur rumbles, low and just for Merlin's ears, even as he carefully guides Merlin back into the castle. There's only one answer for that, really.

 

“Always, Sire.”

 


End file.
